


Too Close To Call

by KirraWhiteTigress



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 01:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirraWhiteTigress/pseuds/KirraWhiteTigress
Summary: Hermione waits anxiously for the results of the latest election to come to a close. Very light, blink-and-you'll-miss-it Cissamione.





	Too Close To Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Menzosarres](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menzosarres/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by the mid-term elections here in the States. I know next to nothing about politics and how campaigns function, here or elsewhere, but I can understand the exhaustion that comes with watching results trickling in. So... yeah, that's where this stems from.
> 
> And if the title heading wasn't a dead give-away, I dedicate this fic to the lovely Menzosarres. I know you probably want to stay as far away from this subject as possible, so I'll try to write something non-stress-related as soon as possible. But I mainly wanted you to have something to read as you decompress.

“Come to bed.”

 

Hermione ignored the order. Her eyes remained fixed on the computer screen, flitting between two separate browser windows in a desperate attempt to soak in every bit of information that was granted to her. One side of the screen held the latest data and percentages, refreshing every fifteen seconds - or every five, if Hermione’s reliance on the refresh button had anything to say about it - to grant her access to updated information. The other side of the screen was a recounting of the night’s events from the Daily Prophet’s news team as they, too, promised updated results as soon as they came forth. It was one thing for Hermione’s campaign team to send her home early, as their floors wouldn’t be able to last the night with her pacing across them. It was something else entirely to obey the commands of the people around her when left to her own devices.

 

Her partner let out a weary sigh before crossing the space between them. She perched on the edge of the desk; Hermione could practically feel her steely gaze upon her, and it took every fiber of her being to ignore it. A hand reached out to brush the fringe out of Hermione’s eyes. “Come to bed,” came the request again, this time gentler. “You’re running yourself ragged.”

 

“I’m fine,” Hermione huffed. She refreshed the left browser again for the millionth time that night. Her breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of a higher number in her favor. But then she deflated just as quickly. Only half of a percentage was different from ten seconds ago. Not nearly enough. “Go to bed. I’ll come in soon.”

 

“You said that three hours ago.”

 

“Narcissa, please.” Here, Hermione’s attention did stray from the computer screen. She locked eyes with her partner, and immediately she wished she hadn’t. Despite the gentleness of her words, Narcissa’s grey eyes were sharp as flint, ready to spark at a given notice. Hermione felt herself sink a little in her chair. But she returned the look just as intensely. She wasn’t going to budge on this. “They’ve almost called it. We’ve got Fletcher backed into a corner - I’m leading by two points - but his base isn’t budging. I can’t miss this.”

 

“Dear Merlin,” Narcissa groaned softly, exasperated. Even so, she took the hand that had been glued to a computer mouse for the better part of six hours and began to massage the fingers with her own. A small smirk curled at the edges of her mouth at the sigh that escaped Hermione’s lips, but then her trademark stoic frown slid back into place not soon after. “I know how much this means to you. The first female Minister of Magic - and the youngest! You’ve worked so hard to get to this point, and I’m so proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

 

Hermione softened at the praise. She flexed her fingers in Narcissa’s grasp, working out a kink that had formed, before letting her resume the gentle touches. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

“That being said, your stubborness is more than a little childish. Don’t make me slip a sample of sleeping draught into your next cup of tea.”

 

At that threat, Hermione moved to yank her hand away from Narcissa. But the older woman’s fingers had quickly snaked their way around her wrist, trapping her. Hermione stood abruptly in an attempt to escape, and the motion pulled Narcissa with her, stretching her body across the desk -

 

And effectively snapping the laptop shut.

 

Hermione’s jaw practically dropped to the floor. All of that waiting - wasted! She jerked her head back towards Narcissa, a thousand insults rushing from the pit of her consciousness that she had tampered down for the better part of six months -  _ must remain calm, must appear pleasant, must not let anyone see a side that will cast doubt _ \- and pure fury threatening to become unleashed with a roar.

 

Narcissa kept staring at her, expressionless, as though she anticipated this very response. And though she didn’t say it, a single word silently echoed between them.  _ Childish _ .

 

The fury, somehow, snuffed itself out like a candle in the wind. Or, rather, like a wildfire in a blizzard. All of the emotions that swelled within her quickly fled until all that Hermione could feel was pure exhaustion. Narcissa was right. She needed sleep - or rest, at the very least. The campaign for Minister of Magic had been the most grueling thing she had ever experienced, in more ways than one. And Narcissa - beautiful, calm, stubborn Narcissa - had bore the brunt of her frustrations for the better part of it.

 

_ And I nearly ruined everything _ .

 

As if reading her mind, Narcissa stood up and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. She allowed the younger witch to crumble in her arms, and she rubbed her shoulders as Hermione shuddered with silent, tearless sobs. “Come to bed,” she said one last time. She smiled when Hermione nodded against her chest in answer. “We can deal with this in the morning.”

 

“I don’t want to look at another result sheet for the next three days,” was the muffled response.

 

Narcissa laughed. “Unfortunately, this is the mess you signed up for.”

 

“ _ Uggggh _ .”

 

“Come on,” Narcissa said as she guided Hermione out of the office with a gentle hand pressed securely on the small of Hermione’s back. “I’ll make it all worth it, love. Just catch a few hours. That’s all I ask.”

 

Hermione nodded slowly. Her eyes were already drooping closed, so she allowed Narcissa to steer her way through the maze of the manor. She barely registered being ushered into bed, nor her clothes being removed and Narcissa settling in behind her with her arms draping around her hips in their usual embrace. She didn’t think about how long it took between her head hitting the pillow and her brain slipping into unconsciousness. She didn’t remember the twitchy dreams about PR nightmares and data spreads and tabloid snafus.

 

And she certainly didn’t hear the cheers that erupted throughout Britain’s wizarding community as Hermione Granger was marked as the official Minister of Magic in the wee hours of the morning.


End file.
